Therapy
by The Qilin
Summary: [Yullen] NSFW. Oneshot; Complete. "They could all use some therapy."


_Characters: Fourteenth Noah/Kanda, Kanda/Allen too_

_Warnings: The usual violence and also a little more rough handling. Slight dubious consent in place because Nea doesn't really care if Allen wants him there or not, and yet he keeps on popping up._

_Timeline is iffy (Dear Hoshino, please update as we have been left hanging for more than a year, your fans have no forgotten you) but assume Kanda's a general now. Central is mad, but they can't do much because Kanda is fulfilling his duties…and on the side he's meeting Allen Walker. In secret. And they do the dirty along with some other things._

* * *

**Therapy**

They could all use some therapy.

Kanda hates doctors and even he can agree to that. Why didn't the fucking Order have therapists or…people who managed the problems of others? Seems like with all this shit going around, it might help. Or maybe the Order did it on purpose. Left the issues as issues, because if they kicked them out, their own Innocence would work against them or they wouldn't even survive. Even he sucked at it; he got all his money stolen thanks to his own stupidity that one time.

And only Allen, out of all them (well, in their age range, anyway), knew what the hell he was doing when he earned money. He didn't do a shoddy job at it either. Allen looks thin because he can't eat the way he used to, but he's alive and kicking.

In some ways, nothing changed. They're short on exorcists, and while they have mission after mission, at least Kanda has no apprentices. He gets paired with other exorcists, they get their jobs done, and life went on.

He still eats soba whenever he can. Comfort food. He borrows Lenalee's hair ties, and lets her talk to him. Some days he spars with Marie. He fills his required paperwork, and sullenly looks at Lvellie whenever he has the chance. Why was that Vatican dog Howard Link out there still? Oh wait, that's a secret.

And every few weeks, he meets with Allen. Even though Allen tells him to go away, he says he doesn't fucking care.

He hasn't forgotten how Johnny had his head almost bashed in. Johnny, regardless, still visits secretly on his own schedule.

And certain people would be devastated. Kanda's just decided it'd be a hassle for deaths, so he might as well…help. So he doesn't hold back any time he punches Allen. He's gotten so passive about it that the expression on his face only flickers. And when they strip each other, he can peel off the stupid façade he has to put on when he's in the Order, when he's got this position of General, and just be his fucking self.

He's always been honest with Allen…about certain things, anyway. And Allen is just as honest, if not more.

But there's always that elephant in the room:

The Fourteenth.

Kanda says he'll kill him if he can't turn back. Allen insists he won't let it happen. But it happens again and again, and Kanda has raised his sword so many times against him.

All right, so he caused some of the fuck ups.

He's trying to make it right, in his own way.

But he hasn't even fully figured out what Allen is to him. Friend, enemy, comrade, what else?

…actually, screw thinking about it. It is easier to kiss and touch and do shit then lie back and contemplate Important Life Issues.

They both run on a time limit. Some things can be figured out, but others take more than a lifetime.

It's actually better if Kanda figured out what the hell the Fourteenth wants out of all of this.

**_-|||:|||-_**

The more time he spends with Allen, the more he realizes less is normal. Thin is an objective term, but has Allen's face ever had that many sharp angles? Was he ever this pallid? True, he's gotten taller and certain changes are expected, but the way his frame presses against Kanda's is almost uncomfortable when they used to fit together just fine. And when they lie next to each other, in the dark, it is disturbing how in moonlight, Allen's skin is nearly like his hair.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" is the first words out of his mouth after half a year of doing this. Sleeping with a traitor—take that, Black Order.

"Oh, a little of this and some of that." Allen smiles his "why are you asking this" sort of smile. It stretches his skin and honestly, makes even Kanda sick.

"Do I have to drag your sorry ass back just to feed you before kicking you back out?"

"Are you worried about my health?"

"That's Johnny's job."

"So you _are_ worried. I'm so touched."

Kanda wants to shove him, but if he did, Allen might fall right over. Instead, he grits his teeth and yanks this stupid sprout at the arm. "Hurry up and show me where you live right now."

Allen pulls away. "Right this way, my good sir."

"You can stop with the fake manners."

"Unlike you, I happen to like having manners." For all his running and living in questionable places, Allen remains neat, if not slightly scruffy. He ties his hair up and has a nice disarming smile. Like there's nothing out of the ordinary.

It's the complete opposite of ordinary.

Allen picks his way through a crowd, weaving without bumping into any people. Kanda has to shove, grunt, and glare to get through. Finally they reach a quiet street where there is only echoes of laughing children and snatches of quiet conversation. Their boots clatter against the cobblestone, and Kanda keeps an ear out. That ex-Crow is probably lingering somewhere, watching them. Tch. He's learned to keep his distance after Kanda more or less caught him, and now he's been practically invisible. Kanda did make a point once of standing somewhere and hurling insults until Link showed up, and they held a somewhat civil conversation.

It's hard to disagree when it's about the Cardinal—or rather, what he is not, and that is human. Kanda just doesn't understand why Link tells Kanda to say nothing to Allen about his existence. As far as he knows, Allen still thinks Link's "death" is his fault. He doesn't even have to listen to Link.

But he doesn't.

Not yet, anyway.

Right now, he keeps his eyes on Allen's back until they find the inn he's been at. Like most other rooms he's been in, it's sparse with its two beds, two nightstands, a chair and a table, a closet and a bathroom.

"You're mad about something." Allen unbuttons his coat and hangs it up. The closet door squeaks, as if to agree with him. "Well, more upset than usual, I think."

"You think?" Kanda sits down on a chair, scraping his boots loudly against the floorboards.

"You haven't said anything on our way here. What is it?"

"And you have the gall to ask that?" A little fed up, he waits until the other gets a little closer, before he yanks him down.

"Hey, wha—"

"Shut it." Kanda smacks a hand over Allen's forehead. "Like I asked before, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing! I'm just slightly under the weather." Allen pulls away. "And before you can ask, yes, when Johnny visited yesterday, he knew and I've had to put up with him trying to feed me questionable medicine." He scratches at his cheek. "Which I pretended to take."

If the Order didn't have such a bad record of strange potions, vitamins, or medicines… "Go see a doctor, then."

Allen sighs. "That takes money, Kanda. Haven't you learned anything during your brief time looking for me?"

"I can—"

"No. I don't take charity. Really, I'll be fine in a few days." He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "You didn't have to come now. I told you to wait."

"I don't operate on your schedule. We're doing mine."

"Remind me again why?"

"Because I'm an elite General and I'm not your General, and I can't do everything I want."

"Maybe you should learn from my Master. He dodged the Order better than I'm doing right now." A shadow passes over his face, briefly. "Though you really are terrible at drinking."

Kanda yanks him by the collar of his shirt, and practically throws him one of the beds. "Fuck you, shut up, and just sleep. You sound shittier when you're sick."

"I don't have to listen to you, Kanda."

"I'll tie you down on the bed if you don't."

"Oooh," Allen raises his hands. "Sorry, I'm not really into that."

Kanda counts to five in his head. He will not hit a sick person, he will not…

"But I guess I'm tired and I could use a nap."

"I'll knock you out if you don't."

"You're quite moody today."

"And you need to stop arguing with me." Kanda unbelts his sword and leans it against his leg.

"Pot, kettle—black, much?"

"Just answer one question."

"Depends on what question." Allen stretches and then starts removing his shoes.

"How have you been sleeping?"

Allen freezes for a split second, before he goes back to unbuckling his boots. "The usual," he says as the boots drop with a heavy _thunk_.

Kanda takes a breath. "You fucking liar—"

"I am going to take a nap, and then we can talk about this."

"…fine. But no changing the subject later."

"Really?" Faster than Kanda's eyes can follow, Allen pulls him in for a kiss that makes his head swim a little. He catches the taste of longing, tension, a need to forget before Allen pulls away, cheeks redder than they were before.

He shakes his heads and folds his arms, setting his mouth in a thin line. That was playing dirty, and he's not about to let him win.

"It's more fun to tease you when you're angry and not serious."

"You only think."

"It was worth a try." Allen shrugs and then pulls a blanket over himself. "There's food in that bag on the table if you're hungry. Wake me up in two hours."

"Whatever." Kanda glares at him until he turns over, and in mere minutes his breathing as evened out.

He waits another ten minutes before he gets up and properly rests his hand against Allen's forehead. It's only slightly warm, nothing too bad, but his skin is awfully translucent in some areas; he can see blue and red veins crisscrossing.

And yet it's still better than seeing gray. He peels back one eyelid just to make sure there are no golden-colored pupils before he removes his overcoat and uniform coat and sits back down. He tells himself that Allen is not escaping this conversation.

It's been long, long overdue.

**_-|||:|||-_**

The sun leaves cracks in the walls and floors, all over Allen and even on Kanda even though he keeps on moving away from it, scraping his chair. He's slid his boots and socks off, and even nodding off a little bit. In the back of his mind, he senses Mugen, like a pulse next to his own. They beat together; if either is silenced, that's the end. Or, it could be the other way; if he ignored Mugen, the pulse would thrum louder until it consumed him and he became a Fallen One.

Exorcists walked between two dangers: being killed by Akuma and other enemies, or being killed by the Innocence. Most of them don't think about it, but it's a heavy sort of presence that sinks into you when you didn't have enough to drink, eating away at you.

Kanda looks over at Allen. And then there's this fucking idiot, who has even more on his plate. Allen and his Innocence were quite the team, working so unconsciously well for the most part. But there's the Noah, the one that threatens him. Innocence hates him, and even Mugen did. Allen being around them was like a trigger.

It's a fucking mess.

That's the only way to put it.

He sips at tepid, metallic water, and considers throwing it at Allen if not for the fact he's more than a little under the weather. But two hours is up; he walks over to shake Allen's shoulder. "Oi." A sharper prod. "Get up."

Allen makes an inaudible sound.

"I said get _up._" He pulls the covers away. "You said two hours."

"How annoying…" Allen swats his hand away. "But if you insist." He rubs an arm over his eyes.

"We're talking, Beansprout. So sit up already and drink some water or whatever you think helps."

"And what if I said a good fucking would take care of things?"

"That—" He shuts his mouth; at the same time his hand flies to his sword and whips it out of its sheath.

But a hand grips his throat, almost crushing his windpipe but not quite.

"_You_," he hisses out, from between clenched teeth and anger that slips through.

"Mm, yes. Me." Allen—or rather, the Fourteenth, lazily yawns. "They say third time's a charm. Or is it our fourth meeting? It's sometimes hard to remember when you switch bodies. Either way—it's been a while, hasn't it, Kanda?"

"Let go of me."

"No, no, not yet. I just want to savor this look on your face for a while longer."

Kanda is lucky his bruises fade fast. He tightens his hand on his sword, for he can't outright stab Allen. It doesn't work, he's found out the hard way. So instead he holds his breath and counts the seconds until he's dropped.

He catches himself before he falls, and manages to hold the glare on his face even as he coughs and massages his throat. "Bastard."

"Aren't we all?"

"I don't want to banter words with you. What do you want?"

"This body, and maybe a little more."

"…"

"The kill the Earl, what do you think. My dear brother has been around long enough."

"I don't fucking understand you, nor do I want to."

"You want Allen."

He doesn't reply.

"Aaah, so it's Allen."

"What about him?"

"He tries so hard to keep me away. Sometimes he's not even fully aware of me. Even less these times. If he weren't so fragile, he might keep me away. Or maybe if he didn't stab himself with his own Innocence, all of this could've been avoided." The Fourteenth stands, wavering only slightly. "Fever, chills, weakness, pain—they come and go. Sometimes he gets better, sometimes he doesn't. We really must thank you for hastening it."

"I don't want your thanks."

"I'm hardly ungracious, and neither is my host. I think you for awakening me, and he thanks you for your promise of killing him. But are you going to do it now?"

"Not even he's still fighting you."

"How can you tell?"

"I can tell." There is still no stigmata. The way he's holding on to the bed for support. Little things that say Allen's still there, still fighting.

"Hah." Those shoulders shake in laughter. "You're the only alive who's killed a Noah, and here is one standing in front of you, not as his full strength, and you refuse to kill. What irony."

"Are we done here?"

"Done?"

"Get out of here already."

"No, that's not how it works. Let's play a game, Kanda Yu."

"I hate games."

"I can imagine how much you hated the Ark. No matter—Noah like games, all sorts of them, and besides, this one doesn't have to unpleasant. It can be very, very pleasant."

He waits; he has a faint clue what "pleasant" might mean.

"Let me do as I wish with you, and if you do, I'll let Allen back and then he can panic and be his normal self and you can continue on with your relationship."

"And why the fuck would I do that."

"Isn't it because you love him?"

Kanda stares at him.

And then he laughs.

It's absolutely loud and nothing like Kanda at all. It's mocking, caustic, and so achingly bitter that he can taste it in his mouth and he wants to spit it out.

"You—you're an idiot," he finally says. Fuck, where did all this laughter come from. "Love? You couldn't be further from the truth."

"Oh." The Fourteenth looks slightly disappointed. "Well then, what is it?"

"That's for us to know."

"If I give Allen back, will you tell me? You're very intriguing."

"That depends."

"Ah yes, on us sleeping together. So—I fuck you, and you get Allen back, and you tell me what relationship you have with him."

"Only if you make it worth my time, Noah."

"I intend to." Pale lips part in a smile.

"Tch. Get on with it." The less he thinks about this, the better.

Plus, it's just one night of this. For now, anyway.

"Very well—let's begin." The Fourteenth tilts his head. "Starting with those clothes."

Not standing on a ceremony, Kanda does that. Shirt, pants, belt, underpants. He's never been very body-shy to begin with.

"And your hair."

Ah yes. The obsession many people. He yanks at the band and it all falls around his face and shoulders.

"Next?" he says sarcastically.

"This." Lips press to his; they feel like Allen's, but they're not. He pushes back, angrily. Can you taste that, Noah? His resentment, the hate, the hidden insults…

Teeth tug on his lower lip, threatening to break skin. "I didn't know why I thought you'd be a terrible kisser," he says when he pulls back, drawing his tongue over his mouth. "But that was quite good."

Kanda's already tired of this, but he says nothing. The faster this was over, the better.

There's a hungry sort of look in the Fourteenth's eyes. It's odd on Allen's features. "I think introductions are over, though."

He's tackled and shoved into the wall, pinned there by a pair of hands that are strong than they appear. A mouth tightly sealed for his, and narrow hips that grind against him. He shoves back, and swallows harshly. Fingernails scratch at him, and he claws back. Someone in the next room thumps against the wall yelling at them to shut up.

He finds himself dragged to the bed and pushed down. He can only take a breath before they are again kissing, and hands are touching his body. They pinch and squeeze, nothing gentle. Something firm presses against his slowly growing erection. The friction of fabric, rubbing insistently, wants him to jerk his hips up.

The Noah says something, but it's lost in their harsh breathing. Kanda tangles his hands in white hair, tugging carelessly. In return, his nipples are sucked and bitten, pinched and massaged and it sends obvious shivers through him. Something about all this is old to him, things that he's done before. But the different colored eyes and skin, it all reminds him it's not Allen.

It's not Allen who slowly stripes and then brings his hands over his body, stroking himself and sighing. It's not Allen's mouth that roams his chest and then dips down to suck him until he writhes in impatience. It's not Allen's hands that turn him over and thrusts fingers into entrance. It's not Allen's voice that coaxes at him and slowly pushes him toward the edge.

As he fucks himself on three fingers while another hand palms his balls and squeezes them, and his breaths are erratic and his pulse racing, he catches himself thinking about the differences.

When Allen's—no, the Fourteeth's—cock bumps against him, he shoves hard and twists. They fall in a tangle of limbs and curses.

"This wasn't in our agreement."

"I'll make it fit." Kanda pins him down and straddles his waist. "But if you're going to fuck me, at least have the decency to look me in the eye and do it."

Actually, he hates it from behind most of the time. He's done it…oh, maybe twice with Allen and never cared for it. Allen doesn't mind it, but Kanda does know his preferred position when he's the one inside Kanda.

It's this one. The one in which Kanda is on top and how he positions himself and then slowly sits down. Which he does now, his hands digging into shoulders. He bends sharply forward to bite down on the collarbone, leaving a mark behind.

"Picky," the Fourteenth gasps out. "But I like that. I really do." He thrusts upwards; Kanda hadn't expected that and his breathing hitches.

Heated fingers grasps his erection, fondling it from tip to base. He rocks back and forth, still gripping those shoulders. They keept their eyes on each other, and something about the intensity in those gold-yellow eyes is supposed to scare him. Taunt him. But he squares his jaw and stares just as evenly back, eyes almost black. Every move brushes against that small area that sends tingles up his back and down his chest. He breathes in air as deeply as can when the fingers touch his perineum and he almost came instantly.

Except the Fourteenth beats him to it. He moans, a dragged out sound, different from what Allen does. His knees snap up while his hips jerk in their last throes of pleasure. Kanda rolls his hips once more before it rises in him and he climaxes, half from humping and half from the cock bumping into him.

A minute goes by, spent in silence. Kanda counted it.

"So. What was it?" He hasn't pulled out.

Kanda lifts a shoulder. "Hate. That's how our relationship's always been."

The Fourteenth's pupils seem to dilate, before he smiles. "So if Allen disappears, will our relationship be like that?"

His reply is swift. "As if. If he's gone, I'll be killing you then and there. It's not like you haven't died before."

"I'm glad we can speak the truth." The Noah yawns and stretches out his arms. "Before you kill me, anyway."

"Are we finished here?"

"Hmmm…" A slow blink. "I suppose you can have your little sprout back." Only a Noah could wave a hand like that, while his cock is still in another person. "We'll meet again."

It's quite strange, watching the instantaneous transformation. Gray to normal skin color, yellow to gray eyes. Except Allen seems still caught in unconsciousness. He seems to look at Kanda without really seeing him, before his eyes roll back and he sags.

Kanda pulls away immediately to check his vitals. Pulse, breathing patterns—slightly elevated, but nothing threatening. He cleans him up the best he can, but pauses at the lingering fever.

It's going to be a long night, isn't it.

**_-|||:|||-_**

He's terrible at taking care of sick people. Beyond slapping a cold cloth in his face, what else was there he could do? Soon the floor is littered with scraps of the towel that he ripped up to keep dipping into water.

He waits. Hours pass. He nibbles on bread, and when it's dark, he lights a candle. Sometime after fice in the morning, Allen stirs.

"Kanda?"

"Here."

"…something happened."

"What makes you think that?"

"You've got a mark on your neck."

"So? You've got them so."

Allen yanks the blankets down, and pales. "Please don't tell me you just slept with someone who wasn't me but likes to steal my body."

"What difference does it make?"

"You _let_ him."

"What, did you think I would let him _force_ himself on me?"

"That's not what I bloody fucking meant!" Allen glares at him. "You—he—"

"I rid of him. He was being annoying and let him fuck me shut him up and he went away." Kanda wishes he could get a drink. "So be happy."

"How can I be happy when my head hurts and nearly everything else hurts, and when _he_ pulled this on me again and—" A pause. "And he did this to people I care about." He puts his head in his hands, hands over his face.

Kanda sucks at taking care of the sick, but what he's worst at is comforting people. Even after since Allen cry so many times, it hasn't help him improve himself.

Still, there's always something painful to see when Allen cries. It's like Lenalee crying—he doesn't like to see it.

When strong people cry, it leaves you wondering and worrying about them, that they're trying to hold themselves together but really failing at it.

He finally gets up and sits on the bed. He says nothing, but he roughly pulls Allen against himself. That's what people did, right? He can virtually count the number of people he's actually held. Alma. Lenalee. Maybe Tiedoll, once. Marie. And Allen. People he's held (he is not counting people who have held him because he refuses to). People that really, really mattered.

"Are you just jealous that he got me instead of you?"

Allen shoves at him and flips him off. "As if."

"I said that same thing to him."

"He asked about _that?_"

"Maybe _you_ should trying having a conversation with him. Get some fucking facts into his head."

"Thanks. I'll let you know the next him he visits."

Kanda snorts.

They stay curled up next to each other, watching as the shadows start to fade when the sun begins to rise. Kanda even remembers to yank a blanket over them.

Is this the way life is supposed to be? Probably not. Fucking Noahs and Cardinals and other things have messed things up. Before he met Allen, he was going about his life killing Akuma, meditating, eating soba, trying not to kill Lavi…and so on. This stupid beansprout upset the balance of everything.

And Kanda hated it at first.

But can you really hate someone like Allen, someone who wears half his heart on his sleeve and closes off the other half? He's a puzzle, one that Kanda's grappled with for so long and only finally began to understand better.

It's still frustrating, but along the way he discovers things, for the better. Plus, he owes something to Allen, which he still hasn't repaid but intends to.

And if that means feeling ridiculous because he's holding Allen and actually worrying about him, so be it.

Maybe they won't get real therapy, not ever. Too many fucked up moments and messes that can't be fixed by any other people than themselves. Maybe…they're each other's therapy.

"…Kanda?"

"Hn?"

"…I was going to ask why my towels in shreds, but I'm not going to."

"Don't even."

"I won't, Jerkanda."

"You better not, Beansprout."

At the very least, they're still on good-natured insulting terms.

**The end**


End file.
